


Taken to Reputation

by pickledbrows



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, M/M, Mafia AU, Sex, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledbrows/pseuds/pickledbrows
Summary: Mafia AU focusing on Seung-gil and Phichit. Featuring other organized crime bosses and their significant others (that are, in a way, their own organized crime bosses).





	1. there's a knife

**Author's Note:**

> A mafia zine came out and I decided I wanted to write Seungchuchu mafia AU because WHY NOT. I need to write more Seungchuchu. I'm ashamed that I haven't been dedicated to it.
> 
> As always, I don't know if this is going anywhere. Just like with all my other fics. I'm trying to practice UST and whatnot because THAT'S RARE. I'm also generally trying to get back into the groove of writing but. Well.
> 
> Leave kudos and a comment if you can! Thanks in advance for reading!

* * *

Tawdry.

If Phichit ever had a need for the word, it would be to describe this club. He’d read it recently in a book during a long flight and the word had stuck with him, waiting at high priority on his vocabulary list to be used as soon as the situation was right.

There was never a situation more right than this.

He flashed a smile at the waiter with the boring, black vest getup and solid-colored bowtie, and thanked him for the drink that he’d brought over. Phichit hadn’t ordered a drink, so he didn’t touch the glass, only pushed it away. The empty, round table it was centered on looked much larger with that single item sitting atop it, and he slid himself closer to the edge of the semi-circle booth he’d been led to upon entering the club. The tawdry club.

He heard a series of shoes clicking somewhere to his back, but he didn’t turn around, only settled his hands on the table. One on the other.

“Apologies for the wait,” a cheerful voice called from the side of his ear and he looked up.

His smile remained pasted on his lips.

“I just arrived,” he replied and moved to stand in greeting.

He paused when a hand was waved for him to remain seated, accompanied with the familiar shuffle of hands beneath suits. He didn’t need to see the glint of steel to feel its presence. He resettled into the groove of his leather seat and watched as his companion for the night took a seat across from him at the opposite end of the half-circle.

At the side of the table stood a man Phichit recognized as The American. In the distance, he could see several other men in dark suits standing at different points of the lounge room. For the first time, he noticed that the booth he’d been seated at was separated from any other occupied ones. A gaudy, golden curtain hanging in the entranceway to the other half of the club blocked his view from other guests.

Amateur mistake on his part. Nevertheless, he smiled.

“It’s been too long, Guang Hong,” he greeted his host and slid his hands to his lap, deeming it safe.

“It has been! When was the last time I saw you?” the younger man queried and looked over at the guard standing beside their table, “Leo, when was the last time we saw Phichit?”

“Three weeks ago, at your home in Taiwan,” Leo replied in a soft tone.

Phichit shifted at the lack of harshness in his voice.

“You sure? I thought we saw each other in Beijing,” Guang Hong mused and reached forward for the abandoned drink. He plucked out the olive and took a sip.

“That was two months ago,” Leo corrected him.

So soft. Too soft.

“Too long ago!” Guang Hong decided and popped the olive into his mouth, eyes twinkling at Phichit. He paused while chewing and glanced down at the drink in his hands.

“Oh! Sorry, this was yours!” he exclaimed with genuine surprise and began glancing around for a waiter.

It was Phichit’s turn to wave him off. He didn’t miss Leo shifting at his side over the simple movement of his hand. It was empty, no need to fret.

“It’s okay. I’m not much of a drinker and it kind of appeared by itself,” Phichit said, his smile never leaving, “I didn’t order it.”

“Guang Hong—”

Phichit could hear the break in Leo’s voice and watched as he rushed forward, reaching for the glass. Guang Hong curled a hand protectively around it.

“It’s okay. It’s not a mystery where it came from,” he said and took another sip. He glanced up at Leo’s concerned expression with a grin, “It’s security!”

Phichit always thought Guang Hong was a little quirkier than other heads, but that might’ve been a result from being the youngest leader in an organized crime group that hid in several countries. He didn’t oversee every single person, not yet, but he’d climb faster than anyone in the history of the group. Phichit had done his research. Guang Hong had been groomed from birth.

“I’m surprised Seung-gil would give you a drink that you don’t even like,” Guang Hong mused, elbows on the table and chin resting atop his folded hands.

Phichit blinked and glanced down at the clear liquid. “Seung-gil?”

Seung-gil was off in Japan, meeting with Yuuri regarding a trade. Phichit didn’t actually know the details, for once, but he’d spent several hours coaching Seung-gil on how not to piss off the head and co-head of two separate but extremely powerful gangs. There was also Viktor, who most definitely would be there with Yuuri. Phichit had it easy meeting with Guang Hong, one person who so happened to be a more a friend than an associate. Seung-gil was still learning how to get along with people other than himself, and upsetting the Bratva and _yakuza_ was not wise.

Guang Hong spotted the waiter from earlier and waved him over.

“Seung-gil set up this meeting,” he explained as if it was mutual news and Phichit balked.

“He said _you_ set it up and asked to me to go so I could ‘fix’ things!”

“He’s a liar, that one. Anyway. He said that if you had a drink with you, that meant everything would be fine with his end of the deal. Closed, settled, bookings done. Which means…”

Guang Hong paused and turned to the waiter when he arrived, “Is there juice here? Tea? Can you get him something, please?” He motioned to Phichit.

When the waiter left, he resumed, “Which means, he just has to figure things out with Yuuri and Nikiforov and we are set to go.”

Phichit leaned back into his seat, the tension from earlier melting away. “And he’s doing that right now.”

“No, he’s not. That’s next week,” Guang Hong said, eyes wide with surprise, “Or did he change his itinerary? He said he’d be in Japan next week.”

“What!?”

* * *

 

As much as Phichit wanted to storm off home, Guang Hong was his friend and it wouldn’t be appropriate to have a drink with him in a tawdry club during his last night in Seoul. They’d ended up ditching the guards, except Leo who was also his driver, and hit up one of Phichit’s favorite restaurants that he frequented with Seung-gil. They’d gone casual, removing their stuffy coats and ties and unbuttoning their collars. Phichit hated the business look, but if Seung-gil heard he’d met with yet another head wearing jeans and a graphic tee, he’d be in for it.

He ended up arriving at his home several hours past midnight and he thanked Leo for the ride after promising to see Guang Hong in Beijing soon. Surely Seung-gil wouldn’t mind a stopover after the trip to see Yuuri, especially after leading Phichit astray tonight.

“Pass on my regards to him,” Guang Hong said from the car window and waved.

Phichit grumbled at the reminder that he’d been lied to and made his way to the front doors. They were opened for him and he nodded his greeting to the members waiting inside.

“We were about to search for you,” one of them said with worry in his voice and Phichit frowned at him.

“If I was in any trouble, you can thank your leader,” he retorted and made his way through the living room and down the hall, calling back to them, “Go home. Everything’s fine.”

He didn’t bother taking off his shoes.

The bedroom door was open and he made his way in, shutting it loudly behind him. Not a slam, but noisily enough to get the attention of the man sitting on the sofa by the window. Seung-gil didn’t bother glancing up at him from the tablet he was reading, so Phichit stomped over and plucked it up from his hands, tossing it to the other end of the couch.

“Flight got cancelled?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Rescheduled to next week,” Seung-gil replied coolly and looked down. His eyes hardened. “Your shoes.”

Phichit ground the toes of one shoe into the plush carpet floor.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t go meet him yourself? Other than your selective social laziness?” Phichit pressed.

“You always bug me about wanting to visit your friends and not being allowed to go to meetings with me,” Seung-gil said, eyes locked onto the leather of Phichit’s shoes, “I think I just did you a favor.”

He was right. Seung-gil had met with Guang Hong several nights ago and Phichit hadn’t been able to go for so-called “business reasons.” He thought Seung-gil had messed up somehow and he was sent tonight to smooth out any issues, which was how his role usually went considering Seung-gil always managed to anger everyone with a weapon and ten guards.

“You made it seem like we’d be in trouble if I pissed him off! I had to wear a suit with a tie, of all things, and you didn’t even let me bring a gun,” Phichit vented.

“You didn’t need one. And you always show up looking like you’re going to the wrong kind of club—”

“—The fun kind—”

“And look at you now, coming in at,” Seung-gil glanced at the clock on the wall, “3:48 A.M. You had fun. You got to see him before he returns to Beijing. You’re welcome.”

Their stare down continued until Phichit lost interest in being upset. He threw himself down onto the couch beside the other man and leaned over to undo his laces. Seung-gil stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, bent down, and threw him off balance by hiking his foot up.

“So, this means I get to go to Japan,” Phichit stated, voice calmer.

He settled his hands on his lap and watched Seung-gil’s fingers tug the laces loose. Seung-gil slid his shoe off and set it on the floor before reaching for his other foot. The angle made Phichit turn sideways on the sofa, and he leaned back on his hands, leg hovering in the air so Seung-gil could remove the shoe. His way of operating was so strange, but nothing pushed his buttons like a dirty pair of shoes in the bedroom.

“Perhaps,” Seung-gil replied and pulled the shoe off, setting it neatly on the floor beside the other. His fingers wrapped around Phichit’s ankle and he locked eyes with him as he went to work with sliding off his socks next.

“Not ‘perhaps.’ It’s ‘yes,’ as an apology for making me feel like my own friend was going to shoot me because you fucked around with him about some deal,” Phichit countered.

He wiggled his toes when they were free and scooted back when Seung-gil leaned forward, trapping him down against the couch beneath his body. Phichit released a soft grunt when his head landed on the couch arm and his back atop Seung-gil’s forgotten tablet. He had to do a bit of wrestling to free it so the glass wouldn’t break and stab him in the back, but throughout his constricted movements, he remained glaring up into Seung-gil’s dark grey eyes.

“Why don’t I just send you some other time to visit your friend?” Seung-gil asked, sliding a hand down to rest on Phichit’s thigh. Phichit put a hand over his wrist. A warning.

“Or you can take me with you because then we get to travel together. Yuuri and Viktor do it all the time.”

“Katsuki and Nikiforov are heads and co-heads of two groups. They have to be together at all times,” Seung-gil replied calmly and leaned down closer. He grunted when Phichit harshly pushed up at his chest.

“And we don’t have to be together? You never want to be together,” Phichit complained.

“This isn’t a date. We’re making a deal between four different organizations. Maybe five if the Crisipinos can be convinced.”

“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll do something stupid.”

“And that’s a threat and not normalcy?”

Phichit grumbled at the comeback and pushed the smirking man away. His brows remained furrowed when Seung-gil settled their lips together, and he fought the urge to melt into the sofa as his arms wound around the other’s neck. It was okay, this time. Just this time. Seung-gil could insult his intelligence and fashion all he wanted and force him to remove his shoes in the house, but Phichit would be accompanying him on that plane. He’d already made plans with Yuuri outside of “business-only” hours. How could he not visit his old friend?

He pushed himself up, breaking the kiss, and shifted onto Seung-gil’s lap, forcing the other man to take a turn with lying on his back. Phichit offered his own smirk as he reached up to undo the buttons on his own shirt. He hoped Seung-gil noticed the wrinkles in the fabric. He made sure to wear one that hadn’t been ironed.

“I’ll end up visiting people you don’t like,” he said confidently, “And I’ll make stupid deals with them that will get you in trouble when you come back from Japan.”

He’d risked Seung-gil’s connections with a variety of the smaller groups in Seoul, and it had been more a nuisance than an actual issue. Phichit was willing to do it again, just to be petty, and it’d be so easy considering he probably knew more people in the lower ranks than Seung-gil was aware existed.

He received a raised brow for the comment, followed by a squeeze of his shoulders before being harshly pulled down for a biting kiss. His head spun from the snapping motion, and his hands moved quickly from only unbuttoning half his shirt so he could catch himself.

“I’ve learned the hard way to never let you out of my sight,” Seung-gil muttered against his swollen lips, “That means either I chain you to me or I chain a few men to you when I’m gone.”

“Sounds fun, though chains are a bit harsh on the skin,” Phichit answered and pushed his lower half up, settling onto his knees as Seung-gil’s hands fumbled with untucking his shirt.

Oh shit.

With masked alarm, he attempted to pull away, but Seung-gil had a hand on his shoulder and the other digging into his hip. He caught the irritated look in the other’s eyes at the discovery of the sheathed knife hidden against his stomach, and he continued trying to escape though it was futile. Seung-gil’s grip was an iron vice, fueled by the realization that Phichit had broken yet another of his rules.

“I said no weapons and told Ji you’d be unarmed. If one of those guards had a suspicion and checked—”

“It’s fine! Guang Hong trusts me. And I’d be the complete idiot you think I am if I met alone with a triad leader and his ten, armed friends, completely naked beneath my stuffy suit,” Phichit countered, “You really expected me to roll up in an ugly lounge without anything to protect me? Were you really sending me out to die?”

Seung-gil shut his eyes, exasperated, and completely missed the mischievous look on Phichit’s face.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” he teased and reached around to remove the blade.

He dropped it on the floor beside his shoes, then repositioned Seung-gil’s hands at the front of his pants so they could continue where they’d left off. He hummed, pleased, when he felt his belt come apart and his zipper undone.

“You’re coming with me and you already knew you were, so stop the antics,” Seung-gil warned.

“It’s security,” Phichit answered, mood lightened.

He yelped when Seung-gil flipped him onto his back again.


	2. hot, wet, cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this continued but here we are.
> 
> Drop a kudos and comments if you can. Thank you for reading!

* * *

Hot and moist. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, Phichit arched into the sensation and a plead for more slipped from his dry lips. He licked them and glanced down through hazy vision at the thick and slippery appendage assaulting the taut bud on his chest. He buried his hand in wavy, black hair and he lazily tugged at a handful of strands. A gasp and curl of the toes followed a particularly sharp bite to his already swollen nipple.

Seung-gil hummed in question and their eyes met briefly before he turned his head away to attack the other peak. Phichit spread his legs automatically when he felt a hand slither between his thighs, and he crooned when a finger pushed straight into his already loose, throbbing body.

“Do it properly,” he growled and twisted himself to grab the abandoned lube bottle on the bedside table. He was surprised it hadn’t been knocked over to pour all over the floor after last night.

He flicked open the top and squirted the slippery liquid onto Seung-gil’s outstretched hand, receiving another bite to signal it had been too much.

“I’m already sore there!” he yelped and tugged harshly on the other’s hair. He looked down and was greeted by a new set of pinkened teeth indents.

“You enjoy it,” Seung-gil replied as he sat up between Phichit’s spread thighs. He stroked himself with the doused hand—when had he slipped on a fresh condom?—then reached between Phichit’s legs again.

Several minutes later, Phichit was digging his nails and the heels of his feet into his lover and screaming loud enough that he was grateful, once more, to be staying in a suite. Neighbors at far proximity meant less complaints from the front desk.

Sex was usually quick and dirty between them. In the back or on top of their car, on the floor or table in a meeting room, in the restroom of that café they visited often, on the balcony of Seung-gil’s apartment. They’d been in more riskier places and occasionally Phichit could call their activity lovemaking, but more often than not, one of them would get heated up and they’d just duke it out. One between the other’s legs.

Last night, Seung-gil half-tossed Phichit onto the bed after dealing with a misplaced bag at the airport and then sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Seung-gil hated nothing more than incompetence. The suitcase had been found, of course. Threats tended to work in his favor.

Phichit also congratulated himself for his passionate kisses that distracted Seung-gil and prevented another elevator blowjob mishap.

A morning like this following a rough romp fueled by annoyance left Phichit teetering on the threshold of pleasurable pain. He could already feel it in his hips as Seung-gil slammed into him while holding his legs up and open at an obscene angle. There was an ache in that entire, general area, and the rhythmic slap of Seung-gil’s body against his was piling up the pains.

Phichit balanced himself with one hand on the pillow beneath his head and the other gripping Seung-gil’s shoulder. His fingers traced and scratched at the ink embedded deep into the skin. As they rocked together atop the bed, Phichit found his eyes roaming the expanse of marked flesh. There was barely an inch of virgin skin, and this was just Seung-gil’s chest. His back was an entire exhibit on its own that Phichit loved to study when given the chance.

A shrill ring from somewhere beneath the covers made Phichit growl in annoyance and he reached out to try and slap Seung-gil’s questing hand away.

“Are you serious right now?” he hissed.

“It could be important,” came the nonchalance.

“You’re _fucking_ me. _Not_ fucking _with_ me right—what the _fuck_ Seung-gil!?”

“Hold on.”

Phichit’s voice hitched when Seung-gil snapped his hips forward. And froze. The blaring cell phone was fished out from somewhere beneath a pillow and blanket and Seung-gil used the weight of his body to anchor Phichit in place while tapping the screen and holding the device up to his ear.

“Yes?”

He slowly pulled out until Phichit felt completely empty, then thrust deep and fast in a smooth motion.

Phichit grit his teeth, trapping his moan.

Seung-gil’s tone was low and husky from sleep and Phichit hardly understood what he was saying, though it wasn’t because of the language. He always had trouble thinking when Seung-gil teased him like this.

“ _Please_ ,” he groaned when Seung-gil took five seconds too long to fill him up again. His voice trembled and his thighs quaked from the strain.

After a bit of shifting, Seung-gil pulled out completely and motioned with one hand for Phichit to roll over. Phichit did so, with a string of curses, but the conversation from Seung-gil continued to flow naturally even as his sweaty palm gripped Phichit’s hip and he slid back home.

Phichit moaned in frustration and gripped the pillow tightly, spreading his legs and arching to try and be more enticing. Sometimes, sex wasn’t enough to get Seung-gil to pause with business. Even when Phichit was lying naked across his desk, toys in several places as he simultaneously rubbed one out while Seung-gil signed a document that he suddenly remembered needed a signature before 5 o’clock.

There was another pause, too long, too slow, and the ache of being close-but-not-enough to completion in Phichit’s groin had him glaring over his shoulder and giving Seung-gil’s thigh a sharp slap.

“Come _on_!” he barked and reached down to stroke himself. He hated being edged.

Seung-gil finally hung up and his hand, empty of a phone, dropped down to the mattress so he could find leverage. He pressed a kiss to Phichit’s sticky back and began to hammer into him.

“Sorry,” he muttered and bit his ear as Phichit keened from the rekindled pleasure.

Later, when they were calming their heartbeats and Phichit was pressing kisses to his lover’s sweaty forehead in forgiveness, the cell phone went off again. This time, it was a text from Yuuri, and Phichit let Seung-gil take a moment to type back a message.

“They’re expecting us at noon,” he reported and set the phone to the side, arms sliding beneath Phichit as he settled his head beneath his chin once more, “We have time.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had a proper bath,” Phichit murmured against his sweat-soaked bangs. He trailed his finger nails lightly over Seung-gil’s painted skin.

* * *

The weather was extremely frigid in Tokyo. The same could be said for Seoul, but Phichit barely saw a difference with any temperatures that fell below 20°C. Here they were, borderline single digits, and he found himself playing mole in his own scarf, only popping the lower half of his head out past his nose when he had to speak.

“I thought we were taking the train,” he said and stopped beside Seung-gil on the sidewalk.

“Are you joking? Katsuki’s home is nowhere near a station, and I’m not here to listen to your complaints about being dragged through the coldest winter of your life.”

“As a matter of fact, this _is_ the coldest winter of my life. Can we at least wait in the hotel lobby until the car arrives?” Phichit grumbled and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, as if there was warmth waiting there among the lint.

“No.”

As if summoned by Seung-gil’s brewing impatience, a car pulled up to the curb and a man stepped out and around from the passenger side. Phichit almost mistook him for a child due to his small stature, but he immediately recognized his face as one of Yuuri’s closest aides. Almost as close as Viktor Nikiforov himself.

The young man curtly bowed while holding the door open. Phichit felt the soft pressure of Seung-gil’s hand on his lower back and allowed himself to be guided into the backseat. He had a bit of trouble scooting in and getting comfortable quickly, considering the throbbing ache everywhere below his navel.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lee,” the young man with slicked blonde hair—he still had that strip of red in it—greeted once returning to the passenger seat. He nodded to the driver and the car started off. “Mr. Katsuki is waiting.”

Seung-gil said nothing in reply, simply glanced out the tinted window as they rode along. Phichit got bored quickly at seeing the tall buildings beneath the gloomy overcast, so he turned his attention to the front passenger.

“Minami, is it?” he asked.

The blonde turned to face him, eyes wide. “I apologize for the improper greeting! I am Kenjirou Minami.”

“One of Katsuki’s main men,” Seung-gil muttered. He settled a hand over Phichit’s, the one closest to him. A reminder to be good.

Phichit’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve heard about you from Yuuri.”

He received a somewhat flustered expression in return. “Oh! I hope he spoke kindly.”

“Very kindly. Yuuri is always quite kind when speaking of friends,” Phichit replied.

Seung-gil’s nails traced lightly over the skin of his hand. His head was still turned toward the window, but Phichit could feel the tension in his arm. Briefly, he toyed with the image in his mind of rippling ink beneath coat, suit, and shirt.

Minami was turned halfway around in his chair now, gripping the plush leather seat in a sign of interest and excitement.

“Yuu—ahh, Mr. Katsuki, I mean—spoke highly of you, Mr....Oh! How rude, I haven’t yet asked for your name!”

Phichit hid a smirk at how the smaller man stuttered. The worry on his face, the attempt to sound formal, the struggle to not mess up lest he piss off his guest. He sympathized well with Minami.

Seung-gil scratched against the back of his hand, a little too sharp, so Phichit pinched in retaliation and received an annoyed ‘tsk.’

“Phichit Chulanont. But Phichit is fine. Or anything else you might come up with,” he joked pleasantly.

Minami took a moment to repeat it under his breath to himself, like a ritual that would help him remember Phichit’s name and face forever. He said it with varying accents, trying to copy how Phichit pronounced it and not let his Japanese tongue take over. It was cute.

“Phichit!” he finally blurted with confidence, “It is nice to meet you!”

Phichit grinned. “Same here.”

When they arrived at Yuuri’s home, a gated building with a more traditional Japanese design and spacious lawn, the car stopped immediately upon entering the premises. It was surrounded by several men in black coats and suits who’d streamed out from nowhere in particular. Minami stepped out of the vehicle first, gave his nod and greeting, then opened the car door on Seung-gil’s side.

Phichit grinned when Seung-gil held lightly to his fingers, escorting him out of the car, and the other man only let go when he was standing behind him and the car door was shut.

“Welcome, Mr. Lee,” the group of men greeted in unison, and Phichit felt nostalgia for the family back at home. He had to remember to pick up souvenirs for all of them.

“I’ll take you inside,” Minami said and headed down the concrete path to the front doors, the other men forming two lines on either side like a parted river. Or protective fence.

“It’s so pretty! I want to take photos,” Phichit exclaimed, pausing from pulling his phone out as Seung-gil placed a hand on his arm.

“Later.”

He sighed, already expecting the answer.

The inside of the home was warm, but Phichit didn’t like the idea of giving up his coat. It felt secure, fitting snug to his body, conforming to his exact measurements. Seung-gil had it tailored especially for him as an anniversary gift.

They were led down a hallway of various doors and Phichit couldn’t help but reach out and let his fingers brush against them. Some were wooden sliding doors, the kind that looked to be partially made of paper. Other doors were the hinged type with knobs. It was an intriguing, mixed interior.

At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors that looked more like they belonged in Viktor Nikiforov’s home, polished and heavy and adorned with carvings. Maybe Viktor had them shipped here from Russia and installed just to have a piece of himself wherever Yuuri might be. They were into that kind of romance, granted Phichit could appreciate it. But Seung-gil would never allow such nonconformity, even with decorations and Phichit’s desired taste levesl.

As the doors swung open, Phichit’s face lit up and he stepped into the room without invitation.

“Yuuri!” he excitedly greeted and rushed to meet his friend who stood from an ornate, leather couch.

“Phichit!”

They held hands as they were reunited, and Phichit leaned close to hug his long-time confidante with one arm. He didn’t hear the warning in Seung-gil’s tone or the rustle of hands beneath suits, but Yuuri quickly turned away with a hand raised in warning to the person who’d unexplainably materialized at his side. Phichit had hardly blinked.

“Viktor, you know who he is,” Yuuri chastised.

“It’s habit, Yuuri,” the man answered in a deep voice tinged with an accent Phichit hadn’t heard in quite some time now. He looked over Yuuri’s shoulder at him and smiled.

“Nikiforov,” Seung-gil cut in before Phichit had his mouth open, “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Pleasure is mine,” Viktor responded coolly, eyes now trained on Seung-gil.

The air grew stiff as they studied one another. Then the check-in was done and the tension vanished.

Phichit cocked his head at Seung-gil and received that most adored and beloved narrowing of grey eyes. All was forgiven.

“I made reservations for lunch, so don’t get too comfortable here,” Yuuri chimed in, “Takeshi needs to take care of family business so there’ll be a car and driver switch.”

Phichit allowed himself to be led to the couch and he took a seat beside his friend, their hands remaining clasped together. Viktor placed himself on Yuuri’s other side and Seung-gil sat opposite the three on a sofa meant for two. He sat back with one leg crossed over the other, a pose that spoke of solid composure and assurance instead of ill-placement and isolation. He looked to be at home, like this was the meeting room back at the headquarters in Seoul. Phichit relaxed into the couch, knowing there was no need to excuse himself and sit at his side.

“How are plans with the Crispino?” Seung-gil queried.

There he went, going right to business.

“A message was delivered earlier this morning,” Viktor answered, “We’ll look over it and decide on the next action.”

“After lunch,” Yuuri interrupted.

“And sightseeing?” Viktor countered, coy.

“Of course. Phichit came here for a reason, not to talk about contracts,” Yuuri answered smoothly without turning to face him.

“That’s Seung-gil’s job,” Phichit teased.

Seung-gil folded his hands together over his lap and Phichit took that as a signal to get up from his friend’s side and change seats. Yuuri looked at him with playful hurt. He knew, of course, and would not take it personally.

There was a knock on the door and Yuuri stood to answer Minami who’d poked his head in. The car was ready, heated especially for the comfort of their guests. Phichit was glad he’d done some studying of Japanese when they were still working on closer terms. It came in handy to not look completely lost around such company.

“Let’s go,” Yuuri said in clear, unaccented English.

Phichit stood, a hand on Seung-gil’s arm, and as the group left the room, he found Seung-gil’s hand moving to settle at his lower back once again. Guiding, ensuring that Phichit followed the silent rules accordingly, a sense of security even though they were among allies. Only recent allies, to be noted. Through his coat, Phichit could only feel the pressure of touch against his skin, but it wasn’t hard to recall the warmth those fingers had brought earlier. Warmth with a sweet ache.


End file.
